Firefly
by Chelsey Nova
Summary: Always do the opposite of what the enemy expects...
1. Chapter 1

_**Author's Note**__**:**_ I do not own any of the characters in the story; they sprung from the brilliant minds of director Wes Craven and writer Carl Ellsworth. I also do not own the song that I have based this story on, which is 'Firefly' by Breaking Benjamin. As I didn't feel like including the lyrics in the story, the link to them can be found in my bio under **Works in Progress**: _Firefly_. This is a very twisted little piece of work that I have basically written in my head, just waiting to burst free. Please read and review; I absolutely live for feedback!

Yours truly,  
Chelsey Nova

P.S. I feel obligated to warn you before you read that this story consists of strong language, violence, and a brief sexual scene.

_**Firefly**_

_She was just as fucking beautiful as she had been the first time he'd laid his eyes on her_.

The painful realization came hurtling at him full-force, with the power of the Floridian hurricane he had endured a few days before. Trees had been torn asunder, and unnaturally potent winds had thrust cars into the air and obliterated homes into endless masses of rubble. Jackson wasn't sure what ungodly forces had steered the hurricane in the direction of the sunshine state that day, but he was almost certain that those same strengths played some hand in what Lisa was doing to him now. She was merely padding around within the walls of her home, performing bland, everyday tasks, simply _being_, and yet all the while, unknowingly taking him by storm.

The months no doubt had changed her, probably just as much as they had transformed him, from the outside in. He observed how she traveled about as though she were moving underwater, a lost soul floating in a sea among those of the vibrantly living. Her exertions and movements were limited, tragically languid. They were never colored with grace or confidence, not even in the comfort she should have found in her own home. There were no tiny smiles or excited eyes, no zealous signs of life. Any source of light had fled from her long ago. Her hair no longer glimmered in intense sunlight, her eyes no longer glistened when a warm, familiar voice called her name, and rooms brightened when she left them.

Lisa had dissolved into nothing, and yet, she was everything.

Despite the fact that she appeared diminished, a mere shell of the somewhat worthy adversary she had been months ago, she was still stunning. The precise illustration of feminine perfection. Transcending mere mortal grounds and bordering on sheer goddess.

He had to have her.

He would. One way or another.

Jackson reclined back comfortably in the leather seat of his black BMW, which was parked outside of her house, in a different spot contrary to the night before. He scratched the faded red mark on his neck absentmindedly, something he did every time he watched her. He gazed out of his tinted window and into her own, contentedly absorbing the sight of her as though she were his favorite, late-night television show. Lisa was currently washing the dishes from her lonely, solo dinner, taking longer than necessary in cleaning them, scrubbing them until she could see herself in them, or rather, what was left of herself. Jackson observed that she extended every routine to much longer than they should rightfully be performed, and he surmised that she did it to fulfill her time, so she never found herself without something to do. If she didn't keep herself busy, she would probably go crazy.

Just like him. Crazy. Without something to do, without watching _her, _he would surely spiral headfirst into the dark clutches of insanity.

The light suddenly faded in the kitchenette. Jackson eased himself forward in the plush leather seat and his eyes skimmed the dim windows of her house. His gaze fell on one in particular, the eastward window at the end of the house, and he waited breathlessly for a sudden flash of light to overwhelm the room.

_One. Two. Three._

A golden light abruptly emblazoned the room, outlining edges of living room furniture and bringing the form of Lisa to life again in Jackson's eyes.

Jackson wearily rubbed his eyes. He had become too good at this - mentally tracking Lisa's steps and mapping out her next destination well before she reached it.

It was _pathetic_.

An involuntary growl erupted sharply in his throat and he swallowed hard. As much as he wished he could deny that he wasn't, he was. Had been for months now. Pathetic. A waste of space. A living, breathing example of a hollow, piteous washout.

_But not for long._

Jackson waited a few more moments before making the first move of many in this particular operation. He watched through alert eyes as Lisa settled herself on the overstuffed sofa in the living room, preparing to eat a spoonful of Ben & Jerry's Ice Cream. The tv was on - no doubt she was watching a string of _I Love Lucy _reruns before shuffling off to bed.

Jackson poured a generous amount of liquid from its amber-colored bottle, and let it soak into the gauze before silently emerging from his vehicle. He crept through her shadowed backyard and picked the lock of her backdoor with meticulous skill. The door pushed open easily and Jackson slipped inside. The annoying theme music of _I Love Lucy _sounded from the inner depths of her home and rang mercilessly in Jackson's ears. He fought back the urge to chuckle, gag, or both. Really, selfishly, he had thought better of her, that she would not sink to the level of watching a loud, clumsy redhead and a sputtering Cuban fall over themselves in a ridiculous attempt to evoke chuckles from the lips of others.

Jackson wove his way through her house, avoiding her easily, as he lurked through darkened hallways and corridors. He finally approached the door he was searching for. A thinner door, which swung open to reveal a tiny closet filled with coats, shoes, umbrellas, and one painfully familiar lacrosse stick. The closet was adjacent to her bedroom, which would be her last stop for the night, and it was perfect.

With some difficulty, Jackson finally maneuvered himself into the slim doorway and quietly pulled the door shut behind him. He left it open just so a sliver of light could shine through and enable him to see when Lisa would saunter past.

Jackson waited.

An hour had passed when suddenly the house was drowned in silence. Jackson came to full attention, placing his hand on the doorknob and gently pressing his body into the length of the door. A soft glow from a corner lamp was the only source of light left in the house, and the only sound was of Lisa's approaching footsteps as she made her way to her bedroom.

Jackson carefully counted her soft steps. _One. Two. Three._

Liked a caged animal finally set free, Jackson sprung from the closet and leapt upon the petite frame of Lisa Reisert. She cried out once, and further sounds were muffled by the gauze Jackson forcefully clamped on her mouth. She struggled against his firm chest, clawed wildly at him, but only snatched air in her fingertips. A few minutes passed before she weakened, unwillingly surrendering to an artificial sleep. The drug had finally taken effect.

Lisa fell limp in Jackson's arms, and when he was certain that she was out, he stuffed the gauze into his pants pocket with one hand and supported Lisa with the other. He waited until his breathing had returned to normal, and then slung the flaccid body of Lisa over his right shoulder. He carried her through the house as quickly as he could without losing his balance due to the added weight, and slipped through the backdoor as stealthily as he had entered it only an hour before.

He crossed the dimly-lit street in long, cat-like strides and when he reached the car, he deposited Lisa's feeble body into the backseat. He lowered himself into the driver's seat of the car, and the door gave a satisfying slam beside him. He yanked his jacket a few times to straighten it out from the scuffle, and then peered over his shoulder at Lisa sleeping on the seat behind him.

She looked peaceful; no doubt this had been the best sleep she'd had in months, and he took a strange pride in still being able to affect her life, as subtly or as dramatically as he wished. He watched her for a moment more, studied the steady rise and fall of her chest, and then turned his attention to the car. He flung the vehicle into drive and pulled away from her street.

They were on their way.


	2. Chapter 2

Jackson swiftly swerved into the sharp, hairpin drive of the facility he had come to know well, and lulled the car to a stop. He was weary from the eleven hour drive and his muscles protested harshly at his negligence of their mobility. The last time he had spared his tense muscles any attention had been in Augusta, four hours ago, when he had stopped for gas. Jackson thought pausing on the trip for anything less than the absolute necessities was irrelevant and not worth the risk; stretching and nourishment were mere everyday hindrances compared to the monumental issues he was currently faced with.

Jackson switched off the engine and pulled himself from the car. He stretched, and while standing there, was met with what was expected - a sudden burst of prickly, hot air and dust rudely greeted him in the face. A slight frown clouded his features. Typical of South Carolina at this blistering time of year.

He could feel the raw, hot intensity of the sun beating down on his jacketed back as he crawled into the back of the BMW and hovered for a moment over the woman still slumbering on the leather seat. She was sleeping as peacefully as a newborn - though this much couldn't have been said for her earlier that morning. About halfway through their journey, she had begun to stir. The stirring had led to almost full consciousness before Jackson had the chance to pull over onto an isolated road. With little effort, he had been able to smother her with a slightly larger dose of halothane. Lisa had slept pleasantly for the rest of the ride.

Jackson pressed one palm onto the valley between her breasts to feel each breath. They came shallow, steady, the same amount of seconds apart. He estimated it would be a few more hours before she would fully awaken.

Jackson delicately lifted the comatose weight of Lisa's body from the backseat of the vehicle and slammed the door shut with his foot. Cradling Lisa's sleeping form in his arms, he determinedly moved past clusters of gray brick buildings and faded courtyards and crossed the threshold of a newer, slightly more livable edifice. He paused in the doorway when he was overcome with the peculiar thought that he was carrying Lisa through the room in the way a husband carried his bride across the doorstep of their new home. Jackson smiled slightly.

This _was _their new home. Their new life together.

Lisa just didn't know it yet.

Jackson strode through the room and carefully lowered Lisa onto the double-bed. He gazed down upon her, absorbed her sleeping eyes, her sweetly-parted lips, the thick strands of silken hair that caressed the curves of her face. An abrupt urge to touch her engulfed him, and searching but not recovering the strength to resist it, he ran his deft fingers through the wild tendrils of her auburn curls, smoothing them away from her soft cheeks.

"Sweet dreams, Leese," he murmured.

He turned to leave, but the need to reassure himself once again of her presence proved to be too difficult to fight, and he slowly spun around to glance at her slumbering form. She seemed so out of place here, in this tasteless room, with its dusty corners and bland furniture. Oh, well. He would find a place better suited for her later, when the timing was right.

Lisa awoke from her dreamless sleep parched, sticky and aching. She pulled herself up as quickly as her sluggish body allowed on a bed that was not hers and fearfully gazed around the room. She was slapped with the startling vision of a room that was not her Miami bedroom, but rather one so unfamiliar, so unwelcomed that Lisa could feel hot bile rise in her throat in protest of this awful place.

Lisa wasn't surprised to find that the wallpaper was gray and ripped, contrasting greatly with the cheerful floral scheme of her own at home. The corners of the room were cobweb-ridden, and a single chair appearing to be hundreds of years old was leaning against one wall. The chair seemed to be somewhat of an after thought, left alone, abandoned by a careless owner.

Alone.

Lisa quaked with dread, and cried out when she found she could not relate to anything here. Nothing gave her a comforting sense of safety, of home.

_Why am I here?_

_Where am I?_

_Who brought me here?_

_I want to go home._

The slight, unexpected creak of the door opening across the room caused Lisa to nearly fall off of the bed as a grip of panic seized her. Suddenly, thanklessly, she was greeted with the sight of the man from her nightmares, the man whose mere memory made her skin crawl... the man she had thought to be dead.

_Not thought. Wished was more like it._

The startling blue eyes of Jackson Rippner settled on Lisa, and caused her to fold into herself beneath their penetrating stare. When he made a single pace toward her, Lisa gulped down a copious amount of air and began screaming for help.

"Scream all you want, Leese. No one can hear you. At least, no one who cares," Jackson announced smugly, crossing his arms over his chest. He appeared to be enjoying her apparent agony.

At his words, Lisa ceased screaming. She found it unsettling that she believed him so suddenly, when long ago he had betrayed any chance of her ever bestowing any trust in him. "Wh-where am I?" she managed to sputter.

Jackson glared at her for a moment more before shifting his gaze to contemplate the setting sun outside the cracked window. "You're at the University," he breathed.

Lisa's brows wrinkled in bewildered puzzlement. "I- the- _what_?"

"The University. You know, a place to learn things you didn't know before?"

"What are you talking about?"

He spoke so efficiently, so smoothly, that she thought he might have had a speech prepared for this exact moment. "Listen. When I was plotting the Keefe assignment, do you think that I just rolled out of bed that morning and decided to have him assassinated? That I didn't have any prior training or knowledge on any level?"

"N-no. You're a manager. I'm a manager. I know it takes experience to finally reach that position."

A spark of appreciation came alive in his eyes. "Attagirl, Leese. It did take experience. It _does_. And that's what you're here for."

"I have no id-"

"Sure you do. Think back to a few months ago. Search your memory for the last time you seriously stood up for yourself. An image of me is the first thing that should come to mind." She nodded wearily, her features appearing pained at the recollection of the memory. "Good. Now, I want you to remember who you were before that particular incident. It shouldn't be too difficult; you weren't much different from the pathetic person you are now." She shot him a look filled to the brim with utter disdain. "You were little, mousy Lisa Reisert, manager of the Lux Atlantic, 'people-pleaser 24/7.' Remember? I couldn't have said it better myself."

"What are you getting at, _Jack_?" she hissed as anger mounted within her. This constant banter was working on the few nerves she had left, and when it was over, she had some goddamned questions of her own.

"I was chasing you through your father's house. You bludgeoned me with a lacrosse stick; I pushed you down a flight of stairs. Then..." A slight grimace swept over his features. "You shot me."

Lisa grinned slowly. That was her particularly favorite part of the memory, and seeing that he was obviously still affected by the pain she had inflicted upon him all of those months ago thrilled her. "Yeah. I remember beating you quite vividly."

The grimace disappeared, followed by a somewhat strangled look, and then quickly recovered by a vicious sneer. "Beginner's luck." He drew closer to her, and cautiously eased himself onto the foot of the bed. "Anyway, the point of the story is, that strength had to come from somewhere, am I right? It was unpracticed and foreign, but it was there - deep and rooted."

"So? You put my father in danger. I wouldn't expect a person like you to understand defending someone you love, but honestly, what was I supposed to do?"

"You could have succumbed and did what I asked of you." As if it were as simple as that.

"And be the one held responsible for the death of one of the few decent men and politicians this country has left? _And _his family? No thanks, Jackson."

Jackson grinned wickedly. "See? It was precisely that stream of thought that ultimately made me decide to bring you here. That thought urged you to defend yourself against me. Here, I'm going to teach you to think in that way all of the time, whenever the situation calls for it."

Jackson stood to leave, but Lisa called after him, stopping him in his tracks. "Wait a minute! This isn't fair! I don't want to be here! And I have questions. You're the only one that can answer them."

Lost in thought, Jackson cupped his stubbled chin in his hand, wistfully surveying the dying orange hues streaking across the eastern twilight. "Fair?" he uttered after a moment of calming stillness. For a reason unknown to himself, he couldn't bring himself to meet her eyes. "Since when has anything between us ever been fair?"

Fresh tears streamed from her eyes. "Jackson-"

He quietly cut her off. "There will be plenty of time for answers, Leese. I'm not going anywhere." He moved purposefully towards the door. "And neither are you."

He swung the door shut behind him and locked it, drowning out the incoherent screams coming from the other side.

_**A/N**_**:** Well, here's the next chapter. Short, I know, and not exactly containing mind-blowing action, but everything will come together. I promise. :) I pretty much have the rest of the story mapped out in my head... I just need to figure out how I'm going to progress with typing it from this point. Hopefully you enjoyed!

Thanks for reading,  
Chelsey Nova


	3. Chapter 3

_**Author's Note:**_ Hello! Wow, it's been a long time! Too long, as a matter of fact, since I visited this story. Well, the good news is I'm back and am more than excited to finish this piece. So for those who have been following me and my stories, THANK YOU for your kind words and patience! I'm gearing up for final exams within the next week and I turn 21 this upcoming weekend, so I will have a lot on my plate, but as far as writing goes, this story is on the top of my priority list. I hope to be pounding out chapters rapidly, but cannot promise anything. Again, thank you so much for your continued support and I hope you enjoy what _Firefly _has in store for you!

Sincerely,

Chelsey Nova

"Good morning, Leese."

At the sound of his voice, Lisa immediately propelled herself forward on the bed, getting ready to face him, to attempt to face whatever lie ahead. She had not slept well the night before, each handful of minutes in which she dozed were plagued with nightmares and feelings of dread that instantly sparked her to consciousness. All night she had been overcome with visions of his face, of his voice, and now here he was, in the flesh, preparing to... _offer her breakfast_?

Lisa's eyes fell upon the old, silver tray Jackson was currently balancing in his arms, and her heart sank deep into her empty stomach. Upon the tray, mocking her, sat a bowl of something she could not recognize, accompanied by silverware, bread, an orange and a tall glass of milk.

His voice startled her back to reality. "Breakfast in bed. I'm sure you don't get service like this at the Lux," he chuckled dryly.

Lisa could practically feel her mouth watering at the sight of the beautiful breakfast he was offering her. _He was going to feed her_. Almost instantly, this seemingly pleasant sentiment was epitomized with a more crude and vulgar meaning.

_He _was going to feed _her_.

Her tormenter, her would-be killer was going to provide her with the one thing she was craving more than anything at this moment.

_She _needed _him_.

_No._

Lisa could not, would not accept this simple fact. It wasn't the way things were supposed to be. She was not going to break down and display to him that she needed him to ensure her survival. No way in hell it was ever going to happen.

When Jackson placed the tray upon the edge of the bed and turned his back on her, preparing to walk away, Lisa reciprocated the tray violently - with the cry of a fierce warrior, she hurled the tray hard, and it crashed into the wall on the opposite side of the room.

Jackson cocked his head at the sight that lay before him. Large globs of oatmeal dribbled down the wallpaper, and the glass containing the milk had shattered into millions of pieces. The only part of her breakfast that remained unscarred was the orange.

His jaw tightened.

_She should be fucking grateful. Fuck her. She'll live to regret it._

Jackson spun around to face her. He smirked in appreciation of her barbaric appearance. Her chest was heaving, her eyes were wildly animalistic and panting breaths tore through her mouth.

_At least I know she's still in there somewhere. She's still a fighter, still has the ability to _do _something._

Jackson approached her, a predator stalking his prey, and stood firmly beside her. He leant down, and harshly whispered into her ear, as if he were afraid someone would overhear them. "I would have eaten that if I were you." He could see Lisa cringe regrettably at her actions, and she shrunk away from him, coiled away from the blow she expected to follow his words.

Jackson merely chuckled, and strode to the other side of the room, to the scene of the crime, and began picking up what remained of her breakfast. "You know, skipping breakfast is like trying to run your car without any gas. My father always said that to me."

Lisa seemed taken aback at this little invite into his past. Her eyebrow quirked in momentary confusion and then she recovered. She snorted. "You mean, he used to say that before you killed him?"

"What?" A look of confusion colored his face momentarily, and then one of recognition lit up in its place. He turned his head to look at her. "Oh, Christ, Leese. No. That was a joke. You know, sometimes people tell jokes." He shifted his gaze to the mess that lay at his feet and continued, meticulously placing the food back on the tray. "No, it was quite the contrary, actually. I had a very loving home up until I was ten, when a car accident took Mom and Dad away."

"Oh."

She hated the way that one simple word sounded. So small, so wounded, almost sympathetic.

It was hard to imagine, yet there it was. The image of Jackson as a child felt foreign, yet she couldn't force it from her mind. The vision of a bright-eyed ten year old boy came into painfully sharp focus. The picture was so clear that Lisa thought she could have counted the handful of freckles scattered across his nose. She thought back to the memories she had made with her father as a girl, midnight fishing on the banks of the Miami River, listening to music as she helped him rebuild his old Roadrunner in the garage and laughing until her sides hurt as they danced around the shop, pretending his tools were instruments. She pictured Jackson in her place in these scenarios and herself standing on the sidelines of her own memories. She saw him in the mud alongside the river, struggling to reel in a bass and rocking out to Bob Seger as he sat perched upon the rusted hood of an antique car. An older man was playing air guitar on a giant wrench beside him. His face was blurred, but Lisa could only assume it was Jackson's own father.

The vision was brief, a shooting star of a thought, and then it was gone.

The picture seemed strange, alien, yet... natural.

Human.

After all, everyone was a child at one point. Why would Jackson, a man of real flesh and blood, be any different?

Lisa was rattled from her thoughts by the smooth sound of his voice. "You know, Leese, not everyone is out to make your world a living hell."

It was automatic. "So what you're saying is, not everyone is like you?"

Jackson curled his lips, a sure sign that the next words to drip from his mouth would be poisonous and mocking. "Is that what you think? Well, it may not seem like it now, but you'll come around. One way or another, you'll see. And in the end... you'll be thanking me for everything I've done."

"And what exactly have you done, Jack? You've got quite the resume, don't you? Government overthrows and high-profile assassinations? Isn't that how it went? Those jobs don't exactly sound like they were done with the good of the people in mind. Don't give me this bullshit. You do nothing less than turn people's lives to shit, granted you let them live their life long enough to suffer from the repercussions."

Jackson's jaw jutted out at a frightening angle, and he spoke through gritted teeth. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

His blatant anger sparkled amusement in her. She had one over on him and she surged forward. "I think I do, Jack. You're a cold-blooded killer. And as much as you think you were doing someone a favor, Keefe's attempted assassination doesn't exactly read as community service in the media. You're a miserable human being. And you have no one to blame but yourself."

His words were hushed and choked by the anger boiling inside of him. "That's it, Leese. I was going to give it a few days, but you've just made my mind up for me. That's it."

With the intensity of a hurricane, Jackson bounded towards her and was at her side within a sharp second. "Get up," he growled, and yanked on her bared arm with a bruising grip.

She yelped angrily in pain. "Let me go! I'm not going anywhere with you!"

"Too late. We're already here, Leese. Now, _get up_."

"_No_!"

Jackson wrenched her arm so hard he thought he might have pulled it out of its socket. But he didn't care. She had brought this on herself. Lisa fell to the floor with a satisfying thud, and he tugged her towards him. When he ordered her to get up once more, she refused, splaying her legs out disobediently in front of her. "Don't think I won't drag you, Lisa. I think you'll learn it's best to do what I say."

She glared at him for a moment. The air crackled with thick tension around them and then she slowly pushed herself off of the floor. "Where are we going?"

"Someplace better suited for you," he smirked. "This is _my _room."

She trudged alongside him as he led her out into the dry heat of the summer day. He hadn't wanted it to come to this so soon, but she had pushed him over the edge. She had proved to him that she was fully ready for what he held in store for her.

They passed the multiple gray brick buildings and tall, rusted chain link fences and Jackson looked at Lisa as she observed her surroundings. This was her first time witnessing this environment, as she had been unconscious the first time she had been taken past the structures, and Jackson smiled proudly to himself as he was reminded of how effortless it had been to bring her here.

"It looks like a concentration camp," Lisa muttered miserably. She didn't sound as high-spirited as before, when she had been verbally assaulting him, but seemed taken down a peg or two. The drabness of the facility probably contributed to her sudden low spirits.

Jackson chuckled lightly, his mood abruptly cheered by the distinct joylessness of her own. "That was my exact thought when I first stepped foot in this place. I was a new student, just like you. Trust me, you'll learn to love it here."

Before she could respond, Jackson stopped suddenly and nudged a pile of branches and leaves aside with the toe of his Hermes shoe to reveal a chipped wooden door that lay on the ground. "This is your room."

"A cellar?" she cried in disbelief. She began squirming, trying to wrench free of his grasp, but Jackson was quick. He pulled her into him, and held her close and hard beside him.

"It's not that bad, Leese," he murmured in hushed tones, as though he were persuading a child. "You'll love it."

Jackson ripped open the door to her underground chamber with one hand, and pushed Lisa forward with his other. She reluctantly descended the stairs on her bare feet and turned to face him. Even in the darkness of the entrance to the cavern, he could see new tears dribble down her face. "Jackson, please..."

She was begging like a dog. Jackson grunted disapprovingly. He half expected her to whimper and sprout a tail so she could tuck it between her legs. He could feel a bubble of disappointment swelling in his chest. "This is your first lesson," he grumbled. "I'm going to teach you how to make due with what you have. You're going to learn to become handy and survive any situation with the most basic tools at your disposal." Jackson spread his palm over the white-washed door, readying himself to close it if she should attempt to flee. "You've never known desperate, never tasted real hunger. In here, you will." He began to close the door, but paused at the timid sound of her voice.

"I'm scared."

He sighed deeply. "In real life, you don't have time to be scared. You have a few seconds to make a decision and then react. Food and other necessities may not always be available to you. You're going to have to learn to cope with that, even if you don't taste food for days on end."

"But you're suddenly forcing this on me. When would I be faced with a situation like this in reality?"

_Does she have to ask so many fucking questions?_ he thought bitterly, but answered her as calmly as he could. He figured it was the least he could do before he closed the door on her. "Lisa, you have no idea what your reality has become. Do you think that your actions against me all those months ago were going to go unpunished? You intercepted a brash message. Now you're going to have to deal with the consequences. In my field, you don't screw up a mission and live to tell about it. This simple fact applies to both of us. My bosses and whoever else they may decide to involve in this... they're after us. And trust me, compared to them, I'm a fucking saint-"

"If they wanted to hurt us, wouldn't they have done it already?"

"You think they haven't tried?" he uttered. "I've intercepted a few 'brash messages' myself these past few months."

Watery disbelief glittered in her eyes. "You-you've been protecting me?"

"Yes, Leese. I've seen half of what they have planned for us. At first, I thought you needed protection. You defeated me, of course, yet look at how easy it was for me to re-enter your life, to bring you here. I knew you weren't ready, so I took it upon myself to look out for you. Now..." he paused. "You need to learn to look out for yourself," he finished softly.

"Jackson?"

"Yes, Lisa?"

She bit her lip. "Why were you protecting me?"

He harshly drew in a breath, and released it slowly. "That's enough questions for now, Leese," he murmured. "I'll be back to check on you tomorrow." Before she could protest, he quickly lowered the door. He pulled a key from the pocket of his slacks and slid it in the rusted padlock. It turned with a deafening click.

The next few days were... lonely.

Jackson felt the first sting of aloneness mere minutes after he had closed the cellar door on her. He had taken a few steps away from the hole in the ground when he realized he already missed talking to her. It had taken him all day, but he finally managed to force the feeling away.

That night, as he crawled between the sheets of the bed in his room, the stab of loneliness returned and pierced his heart when he inhaled the brilliant scent of Lisa. It lingered in the stitches of the pillowcases, the bedspread. It seemed to overwhelm the entire room. His dreams that night were accented with the thought of her and that beautiful smell.

Over the course of the next few days, Jackson returned to the cellar. He afforded Lisa little water, and no matter how much she pleaded with him, not one shred of food. On the third day, she ceased begging.

Jackson took pity on her, however, and allowed her to retreat from the cavern once a day. He offered her five minutes and not a second longer. He escorted her to a row of outhouses on these trips, and stood outside of the small structures as she relieved herself. He thought it better that she hold onto one scrap of what was left of her dignity- he was not about to force her to sit in her own filth.

She never uttered a word as he ushered her back to her little hole in the ground; her ability to speak had fled with the realization that she was not to be fed or freed.

On the sixth day, when Jackson unlocked the cellar door, she was not waiting expectantly at the door for him. Fear gripped him; perhaps it had been too much for her. Perhaps she wasn't as strong as he thought she was. Perhaps he had killed her.

He lowered himself into the cellar, and skimmed his hand over the wall made partially from earth. Usually, a lantern hung from a wooden peg on the makeshift wall, but today, his hand was greeted by the projecting peg and nothing more.

A shuffle from somewhere deeper in the cellar attracted his attention, and as he progressed through the cavern, he could see a faint flicker of light dancing on the walls.

In one corner, slumped over a mound of earth, sat the fragile form of Lisa. The lantern was perched next to her.

Jackson approached her slowly. "Leese?" he whispered.

Lisa weakly lifted her head and briefly met his gaze. Then she lowered it once again.

He took another step towards her and crouched down beside her. "Lisa?"

Her eyes rolled over to look at him, and Jackson brushed her matted hair away from her face. There, dangling from her mouth, was the remains of a large bug.

She had been surviving for these past few days on_ insects_.

Jackson gently gripped her shoulders and he could not contain the smile that spread over his lips.

"You're ready."


End file.
